The Seventh Inning Stretch

The baseball sat on his desk, scuffed and weathered, a Rawlings from 1974. Marcus hadn't picked it up in three years—not since Elena died. Their son had given it to him at his retirement party from the force, a joke about his old Little League coaching days. Now it was just another artifact in a museum of a life he barely recognized.

He was supposed to be packing. The apartment sold in two days. But the box marked "Memories" remained empty while he sat tracing the stitching on that damn ball with his thumb.

A meow pierced his reverie.

Marcus looked up to see an orange tabby perched on his windowsill, watching him with judgmental yellow eyes. He'd never owned a cat. Elena was allergic. They'd been dog people, until Rex died six months before she did.

"Go away," he muttered, but the cat jumped into the apartment anyway, landing with impossible grace on the cardboard box.

The cat padded over to the desk and sniffed the baseball, then looked at Marcus with what he swore was understanding. He'd read about this—animals sensing grief. Or maybe the cat just wanted food.

"You know," Marcus said, surprised by the rasp in his voice, "I threw a no-hitter with this ball. State championship. 1967. Elena was in the stands. She wore this ridiculous orange dress—clashed with everything, but she said it was lucky."

The cat settled on his desk, curling into a circle so perfect it seemed practiced. Its orange fur glinted in the afternoon light.

"After the game," Marcus continued, "she told me she loved me. Right there on the pitcher's mound. Said she'd been waiting for the right moment since seventh grade."

He swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat. Forty-seven years later, he still remembered how the sunset caught her hair. Still remembered thinking his life couldn't possibly get any better.

The cat began to purr, a sound like a small engine, like contentment itself.

Marcus picked up the baseball. For the first time since the funeral, he didn't put it down immediately. He placed it in the box.

Then he picked up his phone.

"Hello? Animal Control? Yes, I found a cat. No, I'm not going to keep him. But... well, could you hold on a second?"

Marcus looked at the orange cat again, really looked at it. Thought about the silence of his new condo. Thought about Elena, who would have rescued it without hesitation.

"Actually, never mind," he said. "I think... I think I'll keep him."